Thieves
by proudmarie
Summary: ROMY Apocalypse has been vanquished and life returns to normal for the Xmen, that is until Gambit is sent to recruit a runaway mutant. Who is she? What is she running from and why is the Cajun concerned?
1. Chapter 1

_This is the first fanfiction I've posted in, shall we say lifetimes? It's been a while, so comments and helpful advice are greatly welcome. This is a ROMY fic (what can I say, those southerners) in the evolution universe. A bit of background, this occurs after the final episode, Gambit joined the Xmen around the time of Cajun Spice, and Rogue has been off and occupied with her preceding history. This is just for the browsers, no fear, all shall be revealed in time. **I do not own X-Men or any of its characters. Marvel does. That's why I live in a cramped box and they own a Universe. The idea for the story however is mine. Small consolation, what can I say?**_

_Synopsis: It has been a year since Apocalypse and the X-men are settling into their schedules of school, work and life. When Gambit is asked to greet a runaway mutant neither he nor his compatriots realize the catastrophe that will follow .For eyes have been watching. Something strange lurks in the shadows; something dark knows their names and something vengeful will emerge triumphant._

**Thieves**

**Prologue- The Encounter**

"Well?" Remy turned woefully from his half filled cup of caffeine and milk, his lips parting in sweet sorrow. "What do you think?" Lifting a strong hand to his chin, he rubbed the scratchy shadow of hair that seemed in a permanent state of five o'clock distress and shrugged. The short figure before him scoffed, pulling at several loose strands of hair that framed her pretty face. "Like, that is such a typical guy response." Her lips pursed in a youthful frustration only trendy teens seemed able to accomplish. The southerner breathed a tiresome breath.

"Den why you ask, Cherie?" the thin tips of his shapely lips came together in perfect annunciation and, as he predicted she blushed a furious hue.

"Oh, forget it!" she scowled and dropped her hands to her sides, slowly clenching and unclenching her fingers making her look more like a child in a tantrum than a starting junior.

"Keep yo' face like 'dat p'tite, 'n it gonna freeze." He returned to his morning beverage with a normal air of nonchalance and perhaps a touch of personal amazement. Beyond his rebel good-looks, Cajun charm and theatrical flair was an even greater appraising talent (one that seemed to excel on the female variety). Through the deep cocoa scent of his large mug he caught another flavour, one whose manner held deep annoyance at his purposeful flouting.

"Gambit, leave Kitty alone! She's just a little nervous." the short brunette beamed, accepting the soothing arm attached to a taller redhead. "First day jitters, huh Kitty?"

"I'm like totally freaking Jean! I mean, this is like so much bigger than last year, right? I mean, between my AP courses, and computer labs and volunteering… can you believe I only have one year left after this before like, college?" Jean nodded sympathetically, her arm still wrapped round the smaller girl. Kitty let out a frustrated gurgle and slapped her forehead with her palm.

"Is jus' school, p'tite. Not'in importan' to worry ove'," then, he winked and added. "'Sides. Yo' can always' go back an extra year. Yo' small enough, nobody notice!"

"We can't all be dropouts, Gambit," she stressed his name, spitting it like sour fruit. Before she could continue her reciprocate, the big and little hands sprung to twelve and eight, respectively. "Oh! Now look! You're making me late!" and as though on cue, the three teens heard the groan of a car starting followed by impatient hollers.

"Better go Kitty. I wouldn't put it past Kurt to leave without you." Passing her the knapsack slumped at her feet, she chuckled. "He's gotten even worse since teaming with Bobby. Good luck!" she winked. Kitty shook her head appreciatively.

"Thanks Jean! You too, don't get lost on campus now!" whatever else the girls said as farewells fell on deaf ears. Currently, Remy was fascinated by the dark ring that had crusted along the inside of his mug. The muscular crimson of his retina contracted and released, expanding and constricting the surrounding blackness. _Dat's what happen' when yo' leave it too long Remy, _and unconsciously his head flopped in disgust.

"Do you always have to tease her so badly?" Remy ignored Jean and instead focused on his grip round the white china. He felt them warm, a soft, reddish glow emanating from somewhere deep until the cocoa started to bubble. Grinning satisfactorily he shrugged.

"Why Chere, jealous?" the curl in his lip deepened, bulging the skin beneath his eyes so they formed a black half-crescent moon. "Remy had no idea." He heard her smirk before her lips parted, his enhanced awareness a useful guard. Her cerulean orbs slid skywards.

"Well Romeo, could you try and lighten up? She's just a kid." Remy chugged the rest of his warmed coffee, plunked the empty mug and wiped his chin in an exaggerated show.

"We all jus' kids, mon enfant," his tone was condescending, but as he leaned back on the kitchen's counter, his long legs stretched out beneath the wooden chaise he took on the guise of a cat eyeing its prey. "Laissez jouez," rolled off as an afterthought, and Remy licked his lips slowly partly to enjoy the remaining flavour of coffee on his skin but mostly for the blush of vexation Jean sent his way. The sudden pounding of feet down the corridor cut the tension, though both continued their glares.

"Jean, ready to go?" A young man's face poked through the door, the square cut of his model-like face divided by a sporty pair of crimson sunglasses. A few strands of brown hair brushed over the plastic spectacles, and upon seeing Gambit his lips stretched in a polite manner. The colour faded quickly from Jean's cheeks, though Gambit remained just as he was. Scott's brow crinkled, perplexed. "Something wrong?" Jean shook her head.

"No," her eyes never leaving Remy's, she added "Behave now Gambit." And with a wry grin she turned to the all-american-boy, intertwining her fingers through his and answering his curious gaze in wordless telepathic ease.

Remy stayed in position, watching the pair disappear behind the door frame. The house was suddenly empty, quiet and free of the normal ruckus only the prepubescent and teenagers muster. He considered for a moment how he would spend the day.

Before he had come to New York, the answer was fairly simple- report to Pere, pick some pockets, meet some skirts and return with the daily quota. This however was not New Orleans, Charles Xavier was no Pere and the X-men were possibly the farthest moral assemblage when placed beside the Thieves Guild.

'_Gambit,'_ the mental call derailed his train. _'I have a task for you.'_ Remy sat upright and sent what he hoped the mental intruder would take as a sign to be left alone. _'Gambit,'_ the tone hardened and Remy sighed.

"Wha' sort o' task yo' t'inkin', Proffessor?" like film playing off the brick of his mind's walls came the distinguished bust of a middle-aged gentleman. His head sat smooth and unwrinkled in all its bald glory, and though lines crossed his face, there was a gentle and kind demeanour characteristic of Charles Xavier.

'_I have for some time now, sensed the presence of a young mutant.' _The Cajun snorted.

"T'ere be a whole school full right here, non?" Xavier's terse silence served reproachfully. The young man shrugged. "Right, so yo' want ol' Gambit ta' go out and play fetch, oui?" Jumping from his seat, he slammed his hand to the cool counter top. "Have 'em here by dinner."

'_It is not quite so simple, I fear. She seems to have a great distrust of all people, particularly mutants,"_

"Ah!" Remy interrupted. "Une femme. I see why yo' pick me fo' 'dis one 'den. 'Dey cannot resist." The older man's chuckle sounded through his mind, deflating his puffed chest. His face fell in a look of bewilderment, then to one of suspicion. "What exactly is 'de chere's power?" through the wide pause, Remy could feel a slow and precise consideration.

'_I have not been able to uncover it. Her mind is," _Remy waited during the pause. Luckily, the Cajun was a patient man. _'Populated,' _the professor finished but before the boy could ask further Xavier adjoined a new idea. _'I will lead you to her. After that,'_

"Oui, oui, Je comprends. Break out 'de pledge form." He waved his hand dismissively. Picking the single mug from his seat, he carried it to the sink and placed it in the thick soapy foam.

'_Gambit, try not to frighten the girl,' _the boy stretched a muscular arm over his head and smirked.

"Please Professor, yo' lookin' at 'de King of Hearts."

--------------

She was tiered. Her legs throbbed beneath their doubled coating of nylon and cotton, the feel of her ripped jeans weighty so they sagged pathetically at the waist. The hands that so forcefully had remained in her pockets darted to her hairline, tucking imaginary strays back under their toque prison and pulling the hood attached to her sweater farther over her face. Leaning her head back, she saw a familiar diner, "The Chicken that Crossed the Road" it's name as tacky as the plastic sign half hanging overhead. _Still_, she mused_, one o' them cooks have taken a likin' ta' me. Maybe he'll be feelin' extra generous._ With an empty stomach and a hopeful palate, the slim girl slid into the chosen establishment.

There was no one at the counter when she entered, though the scent of grease and fries hit her like a wave of exhaustion and she clenched the wall to keep from buckling. Using the cheap drywall as a walking aid, she made her way to the closest booth. There were many from which to choose. To her left was a large paned window. The street outside was relatively empty, a side road strolled only by those who frequented the small barrage of crack houses, garbage cans and desperate renters abodes lining the inner veins of the Big Apple.

A can clattered down the street, drawing the girl's attention. Her eyes followed it as it continued to bounce into the late afternoon. Its movements mesmerized her so that she did not see initiator, a long gangly leg attached to an equally trim torso. From behind reflective glasses, the head caught sight of her through the window and grinned. She stared past him, imaging now how the tiny aluminium container would catch tiny glints of sun. It continues to roll, she reflected her mind amused by this new subject, past the thousands of feet thundering past on their way to a late lunch, an early dinner, sneakily dodging each leather clad sole in a feat of pure physical genius. Each shrill touch tolled like that of a meal bell and momentarily, the voyeur could picture themselves in such a place.

The sun would be high, stretching across in burning arcs until the eyes burned with tears. There were smells also, strange, disgusting and enchanting smells. Some were of sweat and dirt and grime while others carried their spice and tang and sweetness straight on over so that the air was always pleasant, like a warm bath. There was always food, meat queuing on the grill or soup waiting on the stove or pie sitting in the oven, or a window sill; and the strength of these sensory incantations brought these particularly watchful eyes from the shrouded cold of the Northern streets. For a moment, this lone, weary figure leaned against the rough plastic seating, closed her eyes and allowed her lips to savour that secret world. She did not notice the instigator slide to the seat directly across from her.

"Hey, you! Either you're buying or your leavin'," the cry cut through the mirage like scissors through paper and in its stead the porous and angry veneer of a glaring burger clerk. Her eyes popped open, the large emerald orbs momentarily confused. A lardy middle aged prick shook his un-gloved hand in outrage and pointing his spatula to the freshly awoken youth, continued. "Whaddya take me for, some kinda moron? I know you never pay for your meals, and don't think that Chuck's gonna rob for you again, fired his ass yesterday. Now pay up or get out!" The girl dropped her jaw indignantly. Gambit smirked, his eyes brightening gleefully behind his aviators.

"Monsieur is 'dat anyway ta speak ta une femme? Dey teaches yo' no manners 'ere, mon ami." The girl swirled in her seat, shocked to see the young Cajun seated before her. "G'afternoon, p'tite," he nodded his head in what she could only assume was meant as flirtatious obstinacy. _Jes' what Ah need_, her mind grumbled. "One order o' greasy bear w'de fixin's fo' 'de femme, an' a poutine fo' me," his smile dared to be challenged, but the clerk assented, shrugging rudely.

"Whatever, s'long as someone's payin'. Ain't nothin' for free" his mutters continued even as he turned, disappearing into the tile lined kitchen brewing ten different diseases. The girl stared across the table, eyes full of indignation and lips brewing with millions of rebuttals. A light flush had spread across her cheeks giving their high bows vibrancy. As her first words finally drew out, Gambit resisted the urge to flinch. Venom shot from her tongue and each sound hissed through clenched teeth.

"That's real nice o' yo' t'offer, but Ah ain't hungry." She straightened her hood and brushed beneath her eyes. Flecks of dark shadow dispersed, gripping the tiny hollows on her fingertips. "Jes' came in here lookin' fo' someone." Gambit nodded, his smirk never parting from his face. He noticed her clothes were mismatched and torn.

"Someone who could feed ya'?" She turned her face to him, eyeing him openly through furiously slit eyes. Her voice was low and husky, her southern drawl madly apparent.

"How charmin'. That line work on all the girls?" He chuckled and slid his long fingers through the straight locks that seemed intent on blinding his vision.

"Only 'de hungry one," but she had already begun to leave, one hand pushing her out of the tiny booth, her pale fingers luminous against the dark plastic lining of the table. Gambit reached out quickly, "Attends!" she pulled her arm away before he had a chance to reach her. The force of the jerk sent the tall girl sprawling back onto the plastic bench.

"Don't touch me!" she cried and Gambit too jumped back, surprise ripping the cool nonchalance from his stance. The Professor had warned him to use caution. Judging by her terrified face, he now saw why.

"Ah sorry p'tite, didn't mean nothin' by it, jes'," he watched her intently, the clear and sudden panic that engulfed her subsiding. "Food's already ordered," he offered. Through his shades her expression read clear. The saint's and bishops cowered. Gambit sighed. "Jes' stay 'n eat a while." She frowned.

"Don' call me that. Now Ah' don't know who y'are o' what you're playin' at, but ya' can be damn su-" A loud ding sounded over the tension, cutting the young woman's sentence short. The head cook shouted;

"Greasy Bear 'n Forest," Gambit shrugged.

"Food's up," but she shook in offence. Gambit noticed her pull anxiously at the frayed edges of the forest green hoodie.

"Yo' don't take rejection well, do ya'," her response, though coated with sarcasm, seemed free of her initial attack. Gambit studied her face. She kept her head lightly bowed so that a shadow seemed permanently etched from the dip of her eyes upwards. Her hair was completely hidden, though for one who'd been homeless for at least a year, she carried only the slightest scent of street.

"Honestly Chere, 'dat not somet'in' 'dis home used ta' dealin' wit'." He could not see her reaction, but sinking further on the bench, he lowered his face to her level so that they stared at one another from a safe distance. The well formed bottom half of her lip dropped in a skulking protest.

"Did't yo' mama tell ya' not ta' talk ta' strangers?" the teen grinned wildly.

"Neva' listened to' ma," her brow shot up, the dark eyeliner masking her features emphasising her frown. "Gambit," he offered. Her face remained impassive. "Gambit," he repeated the earnestly added; "now we ain't strangers." She chuckled.

"That's jes' a name. Anyone can get a name," she contended. "'Sides, it ain't a very good one at that." Gambit feigned insult. Standing he leaned over the counter and in a few short seconds returned with the steaming pile of greasy goods.

Without looking her way, he picked up a few of the cheesy fries, poured an extra heap of gravy and took a thrilled bite. The girl eyed the plates wistfully. The man before her chewed slowly, savouring each sensation and she again felt the innate urge to smack him with any laden object. Finally, he swallowed and met her gaze.

"Tans pis! Personally, Ah've learned neva' refuse a helpin' hand." His fingers returned to the steaming pile, his lips so close to the next handful the steam blew over his fingers. "Specially if it be servin' 'dis," and he closed his mouth around the deep fried potato bits, the sides of his cheeks pooling out to hold the greasy mass. The girl studied him, her temples tight, the deep pout of her lip managing to look seductive and deadly.

"Rogue," she said, reaching for the melted heap of meat, cheese and drippy condiments. Gambit drew up both brows, peering at the peculiar sight of a hood inhaling a burger.

"Rofgu?" Tiny bits of grease dripped from his chin and he shrugged apologetically. "Shorry." Rolling her eyes she tossed him a napkin.

"Rogue," and she took another bite from the side of the meal, assessing it from each angle to find its point of weakness. "Now lemme ask ya', Cajun, yo' always buy food fo' every random destitute ya see?"

"How'd p'tetite know Ah'm from 'de bayou?" Rogue laughed, momentarily foregoing the burger for a gulp of soda.

"Pretty unique accents down there, sugah. Ya' didn't answer mah question," behind his shades, Gambit supplied mischievously.

"Only 'de cute one's." Rogue straightened her spine, glaring at him from overtop the burger. "What? You prefer I call yo' une bete?"

"Naw, Ah' prefer ya' not thinkin' mah' affections are fo' sale." Gambit chuckled.

"Believe me Chere, 'de burger ain't got not'in' ta' do wit' 'dat. 'Sides," buffing his nails against his chest, he boasted "Don' Gambit need not'in but his charm." He wriggled his brows suggestively behind the frames and as the slithered in and out of sight Rogue could not help but crack a grin.

"I don't know who sold ya' on those glasses Sugah, but it must've been some kinda' sale." Taking another bite from the quickly disappearing mass, she settled against the back of the wall. Gambit noticed as her muscles lost their tension, that small grin still nipping her cheeks.

"You don' like 'em, Chere?"

"They make Jesus cry," and with a pucker she chided him. "An' Ah tol' ya' not ta' call me that." Shoving the empty carton of his brunch aside, he wiped the grease on one of the many napkins littering the table. With a slow hand, he removed the oversized aviators, crinkling his eyes momentarily against the facing figure. For a moment he felt a strange pang in his chest; fear? No, he corrected himself. Obviously he'd swallowed too quickly. This was hardly his first experience with Poutine.

Noticing his silence, Rogue pulled her gaze upwards, remnants of the burger pooling in the crinkled folds of its wrapper. She caught sight of his arm dropping, the tacky shades clenched between his fingers. His cheeks were high, she noted, his face angular and sharp. His nose ended bluntly, the middle dipping slightly lower than the sides. It was high and curved with a slight bump that seemed slightly off-centre. At one point it had been broken. Yet they drew together beautifully and though she hated to admit it, this new acquaintance clearly had no problems attracting women.

It was then that she noticed them- his eyes. They were not deep and green like her own, nor the matchless blue of her first kiss. Encircling the iris was red, not albino but actual blood crimson. The rest of the eye was not white but pitch dark, and seemed alive and watching where the iris could not. She caught a gasp in her chest as the realization dawned.

"'Dis better?" she drew back, her hands clenching the plastic seat beneath her. "I know Rogue," he said, in a manner as subtle as he could manage. As if from nowhere, he produced a small, white card in his palm. Allowing it to slide to the ends of his fingers, then to the table he looked up catching her gaze. "He, 'de Professor, got a school for people like us. We can learn how to use our 'gifts', how ta' control 'dem…"

He felt traitorous, suddenly and without any logical appeal yet the look in her eyes commanded it. "If ya' need a place ta' stay," he paused, grinning feebly in an attempt to lighten the mood. "All the free burger's ya' want." She shook her head.

"Control?" Her gaze dropped, forcing intensely upon her fingers. "Ah've heard o' him before, an' his school." Gambit forced his face to remain neutral. The brow over her left brow arched majestically. "But what ya' tellin' me, that ain't all Ah've heard."

"Bill," a thick and hairy arm dropped between the two, tossing a plastic plate with a yellow receipt onto the table. The weight of the cooks lumber shook the floors, the vibrations lessening as the distance between them grew. Fishing in his pocket, Remy dug out fifteen dollars and as he stood, dumped the bills on the spoiled surface. He noticed a familiar stretch limousine parked outside the dicey diner. It looked strangely out of place amidst the cracked brick and windowless panes of this back alley. Rogue turned to follow his stare and nodded to the notable vehicle.

"That him?" He nodded. A wall stood erect between the two. As she exited the booth she turned to Remy, her eyes scouring his. "Thanks fo' the burger." She stormed the entrance, slamming the glass doors so they rattled. Remy stayed where he was, watching through the window as she blew past the car, much in the same fashion as he had done. With a knowing eye, he watched her pause, watched the expression morph from ire to alarm to blunt curiosity.

Outside the window lowered and Rogue focused on the face behind the shade. Through her trepidation she could feel something else calling, something else screaming yes, yes! In the eyes of the older man, she saw something so long forgotten it sent spears of youthful hope through her bosom. That day, beneath the newly high noon sky, the girl named Rogue stepped forward, off the curb and into the sleek ebony of promise.

Gambit waited a moment, waited for the lights to flash, for the hulky vehicle to pull away from the curb and settle onto street then finally, for it to turn through the alley and onto the main road. Only when he was sure they were out of sight did he leave the table and proceed unto his exodus. Though the sun was high, there was unseasonable chill in the autumn air.

His fingers nipped coldly as they left his pocket, placing the dainty end of his filtered cigarette to his lips. Forgoing a lighter, he lifted a fingertip to the tobacco filled end, igniting it with a flicker of power. As he breathed a deep drag, he could not help but feel wary. Slipping on his sunglasses, he hurried down the street, the enhanced ability of his senses on edge. There were people around, oh yes. Milling and filtering in and out, shouting and screaming and laughing but beneath all that- Remy felt it again. He stopped and focused intently. Nothing- he could see nothing out of place.

Flipping up the collar of his brown leather jacket he continued on his way, though the feeling of unease continued to follow. Something in the wind whistled the beginning of an opera and he winced. _'Dey only end in tragedy._


	2. Recruit

_Well, I have absolutely no excuse for the 3-month long break between posts except school almost creamed me and my will and ability to write was totally and completely suctioned by the necessity of term papers. Luckily, Chapter 3 is half-way through and will be up next week and is especially long. Hopefully this somewhat makes up for the wait  though possibly not. Anywho, as always **All characters are completely owned by Marvel and created by the WICKED Mr. Lee, who has one of the coolest pairs of glasses I've ever seen any dude pull off. **Cleary, the plot and writing are my own. Please comment and let me know your thoughts- I'm sure they are much more interesting than my own. Enjoy!_

Recruit

In this room, Rogue felt miniature. Besides the expansive collection of thick cherry-wood furniture, the dangling crystal chandelier and looming French fashioned windows there were paintings covering the walls. Massive, romantic portraits hung their bright colours softened by the warm chocolate wash of wall. She need not see her reflection in the plaintive vanity to admire the impressed angle at which her jaw currently hung. Thanking whatever gods had inspired the Professor leave her in acquainting her new abode she hung back a moment, daring not even to breath lest the spell be broken. Feeling consciously foolish, she reached behind and shut the door, trapping herself in the glories of this newfound haven.

The rubber bottoms of her thick soles pushed through the plush carpeting and somewhere between then and now, a memory emerged. She had walked floors like these once before, long ago. Rubbing her eyes tiredly, she trudged to the large canopy bed and collapsing, marvelled at the irony of her situation. Could what the Professor revealed to her be truth? Might she gain control? Her lips curled away from gleaming tips of tooth, reviling in disgust as the word caught halfway between her mind and heart.

How long had been since she had control? Deep in the recesses of time, she caught memorial hugs, playful pokes and wily congratulations. She traced her gloved digits against the wooden pole, leaving a thin and trailing dent. Now, she could hardly correct her grip over a spoon.

"Knock knock," Rogue sat abruptly, straightening her spine and spooning against the wooden obtrusion as though for protections sake. When the door did not open she stepped forward, eyeing her reflection in the vanity. Her hood and toque still spilled over her forehead, the sweater hung graciously and her fingers still cowered beneath the sleeves.

"Yeah," her voice sounded more menacing than she intended. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Come in." The door slid open, smoothly against its hinges and framed the visage of a beautiful young woman. Thick, straight locks of crimson cascaded the planes of her shoulders, hovering just over her breasts. Her skin, though pale, glowed healthy, speckled by fair freckles. She stood an inch below Rogue, though her face appeared slightly older and a bright smile rested over two brilliant rows of teeth.

"Hi, you must be Rogue." She extended her hand in polite frankness. The tips of her nails were long, filed and neat. They glittered rosily against the manicured surface. "I'm Jean Grey- it's a pleasure to meet you." But Rogue made no attempt to raise her arm, instead remaining perfectly stilled, her posture slouched and prepared. The girl didn't seem insulted by her lack of enthusiasm. On the contrary, her smile brightened and a sincere light radiated from her eyes. Rogue hated her already. "So, what do you think of the mansion?"

"Ah' jus' got in," Jean nodded, winking cheerily.

"Who helped you with your things? One of the many highlights of living here is the vast array of attractive and willing young men." She chuckled to herself, cheeks reddening at the idea. Through her crinkled sight however, she noticed the lack of any personally placed items, boxes or bags. Continuing her laughter though now anxious, she decided to try a different approach. "What are you in for then?" Rogue watched as she smoothed back a loosened strand of hair as if attempting to congeal the awkwardness of the one-way introduction. As far as she was concerned, the less anyone knew about her, the better.

"Same as yo' Ah' guess," her eyes peered from beneath the cotton rim of her cap, catching the blue orbs of the older red-head. The look in her eyes was gentle, non-threatening. She could feel her aura from the distance though, and if she pushed herself ever so slightly, she could almost smell the skin, envision the physical manifestation of her powers clawing outwards. She swallowed hard, tucking back the thought like undigested food. It left a thick trail and she twitched her lips into a grin to hide the wince.

"Oh! Psychic or telepathic?" But Rogue just shrugged. Jean's face narrowed into a light and pensive frown. The air began to tingle, subtly, but with a forced intention the young southerner could not specify. Then suddenly the thick velvet curtains, which up until this point hung innocently as a partial barricade of light from the French doors flung apart. The latch connecting the interwoven panes and iron separated as cool air settled in the newly ventilated room. Rogue ducked in surprise, letting out a chortled yelp but when she turned to Jean, the girl looked completely unflustered.

"How'n the," Rogue swore under her breath, glancing back to the wall. Nothing was singed or burned yet the tension she had sensed was gone, dissipated she supposed with the redhead's show. "Which one was that, psychic or telepathic?"

"Telepathic," she laughed again, her face relaxed and easy. "Sorry if I scared you, I thought you meant that was your ability." Rogue raised both brows, their shape lost comically behind her toque.

"Huh," she grunted, rising back to her full height. Replying to the unanswered question, Jean elaborated.

"I'm able to move matter with my mind. I can also hear what other people are thinking;" Rogue tensed, "Don't worry," she assured. "I can control it. Besides, we never use our powers against each other." Then, pausing to reconsider added, "at least, not in any fatal sense."

Rogue had the idea this was a joke, but the humour was both dry and dour, leaving an unsatisfying taste in her mouth. Before Jean could open her lips in reciprocation, there came another knock from behind. She smiled to the southerner and arched her brow. "Come on in Scott," and the door opened, slowly. Rogue saw the tall and broad figure of a handsome man, perhaps a year or two older than she. Caramel coloured locks barred across a pair of crimson sunglasses, an odd accessory considering the current climate.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," he directed the statement as a greeting though it delivered stiff and awkwardly. His voice buzzed deep inside his chest so that it rumbled across the room, rolling like strange waves. She was thankful he looked away, to the redhead. Her face felt warm and flushed. "Jean, the Professor wants to see you," Rogue feigned disinterest, turning her attentions downward to the worn flannel at her wrists. His words were crisp and efficient, mirroring the formulated curve of his collar. She had noticed it sticking up beneath the clean button down sweater. Were it not for the muscular bust beneath, she would have found his entire demeanour comical.

"Duty calls I guess," said Jean with a chuckle, shrugging amicably. Rogue raised her head and brows in what she assumed looked cheerful. As Jean exited, she brushed past the boy scout, grazing the top of his naked hand with hers. The movement was slight and brief, but Rogue caught it all the same. They exchanged a quick look and she could swear she hear the redhead say something. But her lips were still and a millisecond later she vanished behind the frame. The boy stood awkwardly for a moment before extending his hand.

"Hi, I'm Scott Summers. You must be the newest recruit huh?" his boyish grin ended in paired dimples. Eyeing his hand, she pursed her lips.

"Not unless this is the Army." His hand dropped, resting against the denim of his pressed jeans. He chuckled sheepishly.

"Sorry, I can come off kind of serious sometimes…" her vacant expression seemed to hold him in place. "Uh, do you have any questions?"

"'Bout what?" His growing surprise entertained her and for a moment, she saw the flash of a memory in his stance.

"The Professor, the school, being, well, you know." Rogue felt the pressure of her tongue on the roof of her mouth.

"A freak?" she sniffed sarcastically. "Oh, no, what's that term ya'll use here- mutant?" He tensed at her derision.

"Gifted is a much better word." His words did not sway the impassive girl. Some gift, she thought.

"Tell that ta' the rest o' the world," her drawl looped him like cinnamon molasses- warm, exotic and exceedingly dangerous. The air stilled suddenly, quietly and ultimately unnoticeably to the two strangers. Their eyes caught. Scott Summers, leader of the X-men felt his knees buckle. She was drawing him towards her, wordlessly, effortlessly. His head began to spin. Rogue could smell the acrid power behind his cautiously placed lenses. Despite herself, the cells within her cells began to swell, senses aroused by the vast smorgasbord of genetic rarity. She blinked.

A sudden, deep rumble broke the tension and Rogue released a secret breath. Her skin still crawled in anticipation, trembles enveloping her core. Scott stood frozen across the room, faint and dazed. Slowly, he returned, his attention focused beguilingly on her. Too close, chided her rational.

Resting her palm apologetically atop her stomach, she grinned sheepishly. "Wouldn't happen ta' have some fried chicken would ya?" Scott's face melted somewhat and he nodded.

"Yeah," then with greater confidence added; "you just might be in luck. Remy's cooking jambalaya." They both sniffed the air, noting for the first time its delicately spiced scent. Scott turned with one hand in the air, motioning for her to follow. Taking her cue, Rogue waited for him to turn and leave before she exited her room, her haven. How long had it been since she had something to claim? The light flicked off with a twitch of her fingers and together, they walked in silence.

----------

Remy leaned over the boiling pot, the deep array of spices, meat, beans and other oddities broiling in a juicy concoction that screamed New Orleans. In his right hand, he clutched a wooden spoon, its long handle stained from previous cuisine experimentations. As with any household, there were chores. Floors needed to be swept, garbage's emptied, mirrors wiped. In accordance with the current rotation schedule, he was king of the kitchen- and what a king.

Stepping back to admire the feast, he nodded self approvingly. 'Bon Remy,' his mind applauded. The idle lean in his posture hid his supernatural agility, though through the peek of his hanging denim and fitted cotton shirt the shape of his muscles practically glowed. Somewhere in time, Michelangelo's David burned green.

"Un minute, s'il vous plait mes ames," he winked without turning. Reflected by the stoves fan, he saw the two blurred figures stall, though in all reality he could have guessed their presence without the extra help. Scott's particular stomp carried itself heavily over the house, a thankful though unfair advantage for the thief. The new femme carried herself surprisingly quietly, at times her footsteps inaudible. The corners of his lips itched and he licked a bit of the cooking sauce from his fingers. He couldn't wait to get her in the danger room.

-----------------

"So, like, where you from Rogue?" she lowered her fork painfully. Though the Cajuns domestic abilities stretched well into cuisine, she had only chanced brief sniffs between the infinite bombardments. "I mean," the brunette chattered on. "Like, _obviously _the South, but like, I mean, specifically, you know?" Then, as though that weren't clear enough she pointed to Gambit. "Like he's from the south, New Orleans, you know? Does his accent sound like an accent to you?"

She shrugged more cheerfully than she felt and reposed the warmed metal of her unused cutlery to the table.

"Yeah,"

"So, you are from ze New Orleans also?" the olive-fleshed cohort of the younger girl shoved a mouthful of juicy jambalaya to the side of his cheeks, making them bulge ridiculously. A bit of sauce oozed down the side of his face. Her stomach grumbled tiredly.

"Nah,"

"You're pale for someone comin' from down south. Man, Remy, d'you remember when we first met you?" Bobby Drake slid his hands through a nesting of sandy curls. "Dude was fried like leather!" the Cajun laughed.

"An' still he get all 'de femmes," he leaned back in his chair, spoon clattering onto an empty plate and resting behind his head. "Not bad bein' Remy!" Rogue lifted her glass to her lips, slyly covering their smirk.

"S'ppose ya can get anyone with no standards…"a brief moment of silence passed over the heads present and Rogue felt a prickling heat crawl her spine. Then, the slur settling over their ears, a raucous laughter rose. Taking the moment of distraction, Rogue shovelled a few spoonfuls of dinner, swallowing them whole and wiping the sauce with the back of a sleeve covered hand.

"Whoo!" cried Kurt, tears forming in the corners of his reddened eyes. "Frauline burnt you bad, man!" Bobby caught his eyes and in a moment of pure elation they whooped; "SHAFTED!" the clap of their high fives stinging in the air.

For his part, Remy seemed un-phased and she could feel his eyes intently on her. As the chuckles continued behind her, she returned her attention to the half-finished plate of food. She caught his eyes before she took the last bite however, and saw the twinge of a grin forever painted on those smooth lips. Though his eyes gleamed with mirth and fictitious offence, there was another layer beneath (and below that, deeper and deeper). She swallowed hard, not to quiet the thick burp waiting excitedly in the pit of her belly, but the declaration of war between them.

"Dinner was amazin', shugah," she drawled, dropping her fork of her polished plate in a way the let him know heaven be dammed before she dare admit defeat. The focus of the day finally seemed to have shifted from her and while the rest of the teens chuckled various days' events away, she stood, carried her plate and slipped silently into the kitchen. She'd answered enough questions for the day.

-------------------

She sat beneath the shade of a tree, its many limbs sprawling out over her head filtering the light so they landed in glimmering cobwebs over her hands and feet. A light breeze danced against her skin, cooling the tiny beads of sweat prickling her shoulders. It was summer and sizzling so much so that even the mosquito's remained hidden in the dwindling sun.

"What d'you think we'll be like, Cody?" her voice was sweet and low. "When we're grown up an' such?" The shrug from his shoulders sent a cool wind over her eyes. They fluttered.

"Dunno, s'ppose it'd be mostly the same like now, 'cept with money and mo' stuff." She chuckled.

"Don' be a dummy," she rousted, pinching the soft flesh of his arm. He winced, pulling quickly away and scooting further away from her prone figure.

"Don' be nasty," he shot back, rubbing the skin sorely. "Ah's jes' tellin' ya' what Ah' think." She rolled her eyes, clearly not impressed by his lacking masculinity. "Well fine," he conceded, shoving back a lock of matted gold. "What _d'you_ think we'd be like?" Her face softened, the rounded sides of her cheeks sucking in pensively.

"Well…" she nodded seriously. "Ah' know Ah' wounldn't be nothin' like _them_," her thumb jerked backwards through the brush and woodland to the house settled miles back. "Ah'd be smart, an' strong, an' save the world an' stuff, ya' know?" She laughed. "Be a hero!" She clapped her hands together and they both chuckled.

"Yeah right! How you gonna save the world?" She leaned forward, her eyes focused very intently.

"With magic…" Cody scoffed.

"Whatever, that don't exist."

"You never not seen it though."

"Uh," his brow wrinkled curiously, the freckles speckled over his nose shifting endearingly. "Ah' guess not…" she inched closer to him, their humid faces exchanging heat.

"Then how can ya know fer sure?" His gaze dropped now, centring on the blushed pout below her nose.

"Ah' guess, faith…" suddenly the air felt very still and thick. Rogue looked on the two children, their faces nearly touching, both solidly engaged in one another. Her lips formed an 'n', air pushing to the tip of her tongue but no sound escaped. She tried to move through the entanglement of branches and grass, but looking below she found herself stuck. The muck of swamp sucked her legs down, pulling them crushingly. She looked up, panic burning in her eyes but the two children had disappeared; now only encompassing darkness moving in over the twisting vegetation. She reached out a hand, desperate for something to grasp onto, but something held it behind her, pulling it upward and into the socket.

"Naughty, naughty Rogue…" Hissed the voice. Segments of blond hair intermingled with hers, carrying with them a sweet and rotting scent of anaesthetics and perfume. "It's been such a long while since you've let me out," she jerked violently, trying to pull from against the body but her grip was vice-like. "Do you have any idea how many times I've had to watch that tacky re-run?"

"Rogue…" she squeezed her eyes closed, ignoring the burning grip of her assailant and focused. "Come on, wake up!" She could feel the scent of morning on her lips, the draft from the open window settling over her face. The arms around her began to loosen.

"No," cried the flaxen mirage, the solidity of her limbs fading. "Get back here! Thief! Coward!" But even through her shrieks she lost form, dissipating in an angry fog. "ROGUE!"

----------------

"Rogue!" a loud banging shook the remaining threads of sleep from her mind and Rogue bolted awake, sweat dripping from her face.

"Yeah?" the words left her lips without thought, the vowels disappearing behind morning hoarseness. She stood shakily and cleared her throat. "What?" she tried again, the sound convincingly confident? She guessed Kitty stood outside the door, her voice characteristically shriller than the other girls.

"School," she sighed. "Like, you need to register today, remember?" She caught sight of her reflection, pale and soaked, her hair running in thick straggles to rest above her shoulders. Dark irate circles hung below her eyes and she wiped a naked arm across her brow, shivering as the first morning prickles spread over her flesh. "Hello!" Kitty banged harder this time. "Like, we have to leave in like ten minutes! It's the first week of classes Rogue and believe me, they are suckers for attendance at Bayville, and I'm aiming for like, class President this year which means I need to have perfect-" She stalked to the door, pulling it open a crack to glare at the persistent girl.

"Ah'll be down in five." Kitty jumped, barely grabbing a look at the hollowed cheeks and wearied eyes of the young girl.

"Uh, right, K. Oh! There should be some stuff to wear in the drawers, we didn't really like know your fashion tastes or anything, but it's just temporary until you know, we can go shopping and get something proper…"

"Yeah, thanks," the door began to close and Kitty added:

"Bathroom's down the hall to the right!" Rogue paused briefly, muttering thanks before replacing the wooden barrier to its rightful position. Ambling to the wooden bureau, she jerked open a drawer, careful not to pull too hard, and watched as several brightly coloured t-shirts and jeans exposed themselves. Lifting one to her eye-level, she groaned at the bright yellow flower happily glued on the print. She groaned, all too aware of the items previous owner.

"This is gonna be a long day…"


	3. Friend or Foe

The story is a work of fiction, though the characters and premise all belong to the great Monsieur Lee and Marvel because they stick to deadlines for stories while I visit random countries instead. I am soo pathetic, sorry guys. For anyone still following, here is the third instalment.

Friend and Foe

The numbers on the doors flanking the hallway were small and occasionally, missing. Pulling her crinkled itinerary from the side of her sweater, she reread the jumbled ink intended as a map, shrugged, and continued forward. Paper scraps and stationary littered the sides of the concrete walls, lining them carelessly. Through the tiny square windows located on the upper right angle of each door, Rogue heard the raucous cheers of students and she rolled her eyes. Already late for homeroom, she continued languidly until the final door before the stairwell.

She hated when secretaries did this, always on purpose it seemed, like there was a virtual war in constant rage between administration and new students. She had arrived early, Kitty in the lead. After waiting twenty minutes in the cramped plastic seats kindly provided by the school, Rogue was ushered to the Principle's office where she continued her attend, passing the minutes while picking at flyaway strings of her worn sweater. Kitty had only stared in shock as she met her in the garage, draped in the same clothing as the previous day, only somewhat cleaner.

"Are you _seriously_ going to wear _that_?" Without waiting for an answer (Rogue sensed a pattern in her communication) she rushed forward. "A_gain_?!"

Standing on her tiptoes, she peered through the metal crisscrosses of the room's only peephole, assessing her new surrounding. The teacher sat front in centre, the orchestrator of this strange circus though it did not appear that he held any of the control. His round, balding head hunched over his thick chest and a pair of rounded forearms seemed to bear the brunt of his weight as he shuffled over the keyboard of a small, black laptop.

Turning the stiff knob of the thick metal door, she pushed gently against its surprising weight and peeked cautiously through. Thirty desks lined the large room directly, exempting those occupied by the most unruly youths. Perfectly coiffed heads spun in her direction and as anticipated, their discussions of current tabloid news and the importance of denim in the 21st century ceased. The teacher, who up until this moment idly flipped through some folders, looked up with faint curiosity at the sudden silence. Rogue let the door fall back to its frame where it met nicely with a happy click before her hand shot straight back to her pocket.

The teacher stared at her. The students hissed whispers, chuckling outwardly at her ragged wear. She made no attempt to offer an explanation or a name and hid the burning swords of curses threatening to spill to the infantile masses. Instead, she headed for the only empty desk, tucked away at the back of the class where the corners of the concrete walls met. She did not lift her eyes from that spot; there was no need to see what she could already feel from these people.

"Excuse me," the teacher called, as though realizing their professional duty. "Can I help you?" A mocking laughter tickled through the room and her cheeks reddened. Right, she thought. Halting, she sighed, annoyed. Turning her stride to the teacher's bureau she shook her head, pulled out the administration form and dropped it unceremoniously onto the wooden surface. She was about to return to her prior mission, that was claiming the secluded desk when the teacher spoke again. "Ah, yes, I'd forgotten you were joining us today. Well, don't hurry off, give us an introduction!" His face brightened in a cheerful smile and had she not known better, she would almost have taken his tone as sincere.

The class, anxious to hear the voice of the new girl, quieted even more so, their anticipation filling the already stuffy room.

"Hi," she focused on the word, trying as best she could not to let her accent slip through. Five months, that was her sentence here. She could remain unnoticed for five months. Before she could hurry out of sight, a voice called from the front row.

"What's your name?" Her eyes peeked from under her toques low brim. A tall, chiselled blond eyed her up and down, likely attempting to determine where the clothing ended and her shape began. Catching her eye, he offered a wink, his blue eyes gleaming in a way only arrogance can lend. She caught his eyes, and returned a look that generally spelled a slow and torturous death.

"Rogue," and before anyone could voice anything further, the shrill cry of the period one bell sounded. She did not wait for any response. Those who hadn't begun mocking her name only did so in sheer disbelief.

"Rogue?" twittered a skinny brunette hanging off the insulted jock. Skip Johnson nodded.

"Real attitude in that one," his current flavour nodded enthusiastically. Rubbing his arm endearingly, Brittany sneered.

"Yeah, really. What kinda name is that anyway? And what was she wearing?" the blond directly to her left laughed shrilly.

"I know, right? Grunge was soooo ten years ago!" Kim, of similar stature and mentality, laughed along. "I mean hellooo! Can you say, 'hygiene'?"

Their snide remarks echoed down the hallway, already brimming with students but Rogue did not notice. Instead, she walked quickly and evasively, dodging any oncoming bodies, hiding the centimetres of skin exposed between her collar and hat. Entering the stairwell, she took the steps two at a time, sliding between and in front of the milling bodies. No word of apology slipped from between her clenched lips and not until she was tucked safely away in the back of room 561 did she stop for breath. Five minutes later, a new wave of faces spilled in, unaware of the lonely figure half-shaded by the surrounding bookshelves. The final ball rang and the students settled somewhat quietly while the teacher scratched notes on the fresh whiteboard. Rogue settled back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest, and began counting tiles.

----------------------------------------

"So, anyway Kitty, you should have been there. She was so rude!" Kim patted Brittany's shoulder sympathetically. Kitty grinned sheepishly.

"Yeah, I know. Rogue's kinda like that…" The two raised their brows at the short senior. The three of them had known each other since their freshman year, meeting on the track team before beginning their friendship.

"Wait," Kim started, holding a small orange carrot in front of Kitty's face as a sort of stop sign. "You _know _her?" Brittany glared demandingly over her non-fat aspartame sweetened, soy caffeinated beverage.

"Spit it out, Kits." Kitty threw her hands up in defence against the carrot dangerously reflecting a dietary missile.

"Whoah, whoah guys, calm down." Brittany coughed, choking on her drink.

"Calm down? Did you HEAR the way she looked at us? Like we were," she sputtered, "like we were..."

"Oh, cut the dramatics. I only meant I know about as much as you. I mean, she only moved in like, yesterday." Through the throngs of hungry students, a partition formed, a wave parting for Bayville's elite. Skip Johnson overheard the discussion occurring at the round table placed strategically in the centre of the crowded cafeteria.

"She lives at the mansion?" Skip raised his brows in bewilderment. Placing the grey lunch tray on Kitty's empty side, he joined the conversation. "No way," he whistled.

"I know, right?" Kim spoke through each carroty crunch. "I mean, how do you live at a mansion-"

"And dress like the street?" finished Brittany, brows furrowing in concentration. Kitty shrugged.

"That's all she came with, I guess. I didn't see any bags with her at all." Brittany gasped.

"No purse even?" she touched her hand to her heart. "No toiletries? Nothing?" Kim cradled her head, wispy strands of ash blond grazing the tops of her arms.

"That is so sad…" Kitty laughed uncomfortably. Skip snorted and, nudging Kitty's arm, whispered jokingly:

"Better not say anything about dead babies…" Brittany and Kim exchanged looks of horror before placing both hands on their hips and frowning in unison. Impressively and quite unrehearsed, they both cried out, aghast.

"SKIP!"

---------------------------------

Rogue settled against the gritty brick wall, the uneven edges of the fake material scratching against her shoulder as she shifted. Her eyes blinked tiredly, watery and red after waking halfway through second period. It had been Social, she thought half- heartedly. So far the day had passed just as she had thought. Slow, painful and altogether boring. With a weak groan, she shifted uncomfortably, tucking the edges of her fingers in the cross-spaces of her arms. Across the field she could hear the cries and shouts of the other students, their laughter rippling gracelessly to hollow ears. Mixed amidst this ruckus came another sound; clear, distinct and somewhat familiar.

"Allo chere, 'ow go 'de first day?" Her eyes opened to reveal a long pair of denim-clad legs. Even without the sultry accent and derisive smirk, Rogue would have been able to identify the prowler by his swagger. Always self-confident and straddling arrogance, the southern belle reacted in the only manner she could think to.

"Remy? What the hell are yo' doin' here?" He chuckled and without awaiting an invitation, sat beside the bewildered girl. "Don't tell me yo' still workin' through yo' diploma," her eyebrow shot up to that familiar hiding place underneath her toque. Remy feigned offence, darkening the slits of his demon eyes and waver his index in a scolding manner.

"Yo' joke, yo' burn p'tite. An' here all poo' Remy tryin' to get yo' some lunch…" Shrugging, he pulled his sinewy form upright, stretching his long arms above his head. "Tans pis, as 'dey say."

Normally, Rogue would have paid no mind to such flirtatious banter. Normally, a terse and poisoned word would be enough to send any civil minded being off and running, never to be seen again. Remy, however was no civil minded individual and without any clear understanding as to why, Rogue shushed the callous flip forming on the tip of her tongue and used a voice she had long forgotten she had.

"Ah'm sorry Remy, lunch sounds great." Her voice stopped him mid-step. Turning half way to face her, his face spelled a curious stare, one that was unsure of sincerity. Fire and wit he expected but this- Remy shook his head and grinned. How this newcomer had managed to surprise him yet again was causing him to reconsider his ability to read people. His eyes met with hers, ruby and emerald mixing to ask all that they would not. Rogue was the first to blink, hiding away the softness that had risen to replace it with tempestuous might. Remy held out his arm.

"Shall we?" she breezed past him her arms crossed characteristically over her chest. He shrugged, catching up to her in three easy steps.

-----------------------------

The sun glinted off the mirrored edge of a certain metropolitan building. Like the others flanking her sides, she stood tall, sleek, sophisticated and snobbish against the greyish post-winter sky. If one were to analyze this building, they would note that it seemed, for all intensive purposes, empty. Approaching the double glass doors serving as an entrance, one would see a large wooden desk blocking a set of elevator gates. It was a desk that remained empty throughout the day, a desk that seemed a mere ornamentation.

Now, if this same person somehow managed to pry through the thickly bolted entrance, sidle through the electronically controlled gates and ascend the heights at breakneck speed, they might reach the top floor. It is upon this floor that their lives would surely be extinguished.

Their back was turned, facing the greyish exterior, eyes shielded by the brim of a felt fedora. On anyone else the appearance would be pompous. On the figure, it was powerful.

"What excuses have you brought today?" the bumbling figure crouched lower, their smooth head inches below the glass counter top serving as a desk.

"Well, that is, the subject has proven far more elusive than previously assumed." The figure did not move, and the visitor crouched lower, the tails of their Armani suite dragging against the plush Persian rug.

"Then you have failed." There was no sympathy in its words, only absolution. The man dared lift his eyes, their muddy depths filled with fear.

"N-no! This is a mere setback, bound to happen in even the most ingenious of plans!" The figure cocked its lips, pulling its skin in a frightening mask of a grin.

"There is only victory or defeat." The man's eyes bulged, veins throbbing as though drawn towards some secret voice. Its lips shone, growing red with blood. "I spy, with my little eye…" with a gurgled scream the man began to twitch, the two eyes moving like slimy marbles through the air. Blood spurted onto the front of his silken shirt and he collapsed. His hands clawed his face, shrieks of pain and shock disappearing into a strange vortex the figure seemed to exude. A cackle welled from the standing figure, quiet and rippling. "Something that is red."

---------------------------

Dinner was set and waiting as she walked through the door.

"Hey! Look who finally decided to grace us with our presence!" Rogue recognized the mocking tone of one of the younger students. What was he called?

"Like shove it Bobby. God, you can be so annoying sometimes!" The dark haired girl offered a meek grin before shrugging off her boots. "How was your first day back Rogue?" Kitty's small face spread in a wide grin. Rogue pursed her lips. Her cheeriness was sweet, though perhaps too sweet for her own temperament.

"Fine Ah s'ppose." She was surprised to feel her cheeks swell into a grin. Gambit had taken her out for a pizza, then a movie, then a stroll around town. It was well way into fifth period before she decided to make her way back to the brick building. What use was chemistry? She doubted a career in science appeared anywhere in her future. "Ah think Ah'll go wash up before Dinner. Ya'll excuse me, please."

Kitty attempted to interject, her finger raised objectively but Rogue was already half-way up the stairs before she had found her voice.

"Well, ok, but I expect details later!" She loped the remaining stairs before rounding the corner with surprising grace. She crashed into something warm with equal stagger. Before she could fall a pair of sinewy arms wrapped around her waist.

"Dis be Remy's new treatment, he very much obliged." Rogue let out a yelp as she glanced up into a pair of crimson eyes.

"Get offa me, swamp rat!" his hold released instantaneously, though not before receiving several round of pelts from the shorter girl. Her breath came in huffs, her cheeks bright red. "What in the hell is wrong wit' you? Wandrin' 'round like a ghost hauntin' graveyards, ya' just about scared the daylights outta me!" Remy dropped his face into a false pout.

"Jes' when I t'ink we reach good terms, Roguey, you go an' change 'de rules." She shoved past him, her eyes fuming. "Where yo' goin'? Dinner be 'dat way." He let his lips form a devilish smirk. "Unless o' course yo' wantin' somet'ing wit' a little spice," his suggestive wink faded into the darkness of the hallway but the hard slam of a door around the corner served him the satisfaction he desired. "See ya' downstairs 'den, p'tite."


End file.
